So They Say
by morgianesff
Summary: (#4 OF SERIES) This story is part of several prequels that will lead up to the events in 'That Which Wander is Unaware'. This is the story where we part ways with Arnora, and meet "simply Nora". It centers on time in S.H.I.E.L.D, and her adjustment to the "unfamiliar novelty of normal life, and really strange friends".
1. Chapter 1

So it goes with saying that only things I own with any connection to MARVEL I bought on Ebay or Etsy. MARVEL COMICS & MARVEL CINEMATIC UNIVERSE are their own creatures and I have nothing to do with either of them aside from the fact I enjoy reading or watching them, and am grateful for the ability to play in their world. I claim nothing, and I receive nothing for this, expect the pleasure of putting something out into the world.

This story is part of several prequels leading up to That Which Wanders is Unaware. The sequel to TWWiU will be updated every week, but the prequels will be updated is I get to them.

You can also find this story on ARCHIVE OF OUR OWN under the same title and pen name.

Don't forget to check out the Photobucket album by searching the title of this story and my user name.

* * *

CHAPTER ONE

* * *

MONDAY JUNE 15TH 2009

0322 HOURS

S.H.I.E.L.D HEADQUARTERS, THE TRISKELION AIRFIELD

WASHINGTON D.C.

* * *

CLINT

* * *

Visiting the Sandbox is usually fun, both the visit itself and the missions which usually precede it. The Sandbox is after all the S.H.I.E.L.D research facility that we 'bury' all our really hazardous discoveries at, and as a general rule, any mission that leads to those discoveries is usually pretty exciting. Plus I get to see a giant hydraulic door open up in middle of the Sahara desert, it's like the spy version of Aladdin's Cave of Wonders. If it wasn't sure to get me court martialed I'd love to record it just once for Cooper. I'd win best dad ever points for that one, guaranteed.

This time though, there was no exciting mission before my visit, because it looks like, at least according the the vague mission briefing packet I got once I was airborne on my way to Africa, my mission is at the Sandbox itself.

My reading material for the flight was tucked neatly in one of those manila folders with the S.H.I.E.L.D logo in the center and the words CLASSIFIED and SECURITY LEVEL (7) OR ABOVE occupying the top and bottom respectively.

Then once I cracked it open, beyond the limited details I read, these were what stood out the most. My assignment at the Sandbox came with an EFFECTIVE MISSION LEVEL: SEVEN. Now that is more interesting to me then you might think, given the folder required a level 7 clearance just for me to be allowed to read it. An agent's clearance level, and the effective mission level more often don't match. All the EFFECTIVE MISSION LEVEL really means is how much combat training is recommended for an an agent to have, and that only becomes mandatory when you reach level five.

There are a few reasons for me finding the mission level so eyebrow raising. 9/11 was a goddamned catastrophe, and that was only a level 6 incident. But but last I heard the Sandbox was still standing _or should I say sunken?_ and according to the part where it says AGENT(S) ASSIGNED: BARTON, CLINT I am the only one they are sending on this mission.

So I had an entire plane ride, from the U.S to Africa, with nothing to do but twiddle my thumbs and wonder what the hell TARGET CLASSIFICATION: 0-8-4, SENTIENT, HUMANOID really meant?

* * *

MONDAY JUNE 15TH 2009

1340 HOURS

S.H.E.I.L.D FACILITY: THE SANDBOX

(LOCATION CLASSIFIED)

* * *

CLINT

* * *

Watching the 'tigers mouth' close and taking the elevator down below the sands of the Sudan wasn't as enjoyable as I would have liked given that I spent the last ten hours trapped in the cargo bay of a Quinjet, without any way to distract myself by learning more about my mission. Hell they could've at least let me fly the damn thing since I know how, but I still haven't gotten the doctor to sign off on an all clear for field duty sheet. It's not like I'm pretending the wound from that chain knife wasn't serious, but I know my body and if I can stretch in every direction without _much_ pain, I'm healed.

I think that's why I'm on this mission in the first place. Something 'dangerous' enough to be a level 7 threat, but only potentially because it's actually contained and completely harmless. _They're just throwing me a bone so I am a little less stir crazy and behave._ It's annoying, and I make the mistake of not hiding that annoyance when the security doors open and the few scientist collecting the arriving samples from the delivery bay chance the first glimpses of my face.

Its actually impressive that all but one of them resisted the urge to shift back. I'm told I have a very unpleasant resting face, which leads people to assume I'm always in a bad mood. Then when you add that to the fact that I'm an assassin for S.H.I.E.L.D, an occupation that tends to make most of the non combatant S.H.I.E.L.D agents very uncomfortable when they are around me, when I am actually in a bad mood I seem to make them outright concerned for their safety. It's a bit of an accustomed too annoyance when I don't even mean to.

Thankfully the person who I'm supposed to meet after I check in is familiar enough with me on a professional level not to be bothered by my reputation. It doesn't happen very often, but sometimes the people S.H.I.E.L.D sends me out after become a target in the first place because they got there hands on something too dangerous for the average agent, and whether we can figure out where it comes from or its an 0-8-4, I end up bringing it back to doctor Goodman.

She's one of those you can tell has been in the agency for a while, just from the unshakeable and focused edge to her demeanor, which I suppose she needs in a place like this. Though I never have quite figured out if the platinum shade to her hair is from stress or she is just really punctual about re dyeing her short strands and not letting the brown show on anything except her eyebrows.

* * *

MONDAY JUNE 15TH 2009

1423 HOURS

S.H.I.E.L.D FACILITY: THE SANDBOX

(LOCATION CLASSIFIED)

* * *

CLINT

* * *

It took a little less than a half hour to go through all the necessary security checks before I was cleared for access to the main part of the facility, it's annoying but I understand why they do it, and it's not just this facility either. They want to make sure you aren't carrying contaminants or contraband into the facility. The latter is the bigger concern at all S.H.I.E.L.D bases because even a loyal and skilled agent can still get a bug placed on them by someone more skilled, and as rare as it is sometimes even people in S.H.I.E.L.D have a price.

It took another twenty or so minutes to track down and get a quick debriefing from Doctor Goodman.

She told me that the 0-8-4, despite having several anatomical differences has the same external appearance of a human female, and as far as they have been able to determine given she is the only subject they have found of her 'species', seems to be a female.

She also told me that this 'woman' has been in a coma since they liberated her from the hands of a HYDRA splinter group back in 1952. Her official designation is SUBJECT: 103671, though they have also tacked on CODENAME: NORA. In the last 60 years there have been several recorded incidents of what seems like speech, and the syllables 'nor' and 'ah' were 'spoken in the greatest frequency.

Then we moved onto the incident that brought me here. Shortly before 0300 hours one of the technicians was performing a routine sample collection update when, the doctors are still refers to it by its serial number but I mentally amend that into 'her', regained consciousness. They are currently back tracking all the recordings leading up to the incident to see if they can find anything that triggered the event but so far they haven't found one. Given the fact that the tech was in the middle of taking a blood sample 'she' reacted with frightened aggression, and by the time help arrived and were successful in securing and sedating 'her' she had managed to leave the man with a compound fracture.

That's why they are concerned, and though I haven't had a chance to read the rest of the files she says are waiting for me in my quarters, I can't really blame them. They have some unidentified species of humanoid that suffered clear experimentation by HYDRA and has been sleeping for the last 60 years. Normally a person under those circumstances should have muscles about as strong as pad Thai noodles, but she was still able to fight back several men and break bone in her first few seconds awake.

I'm not going to lie, I can see why that's got them wetting their pants a little, but personally I'm impressed and am a little more interested in meeting 'her' then just fulfilling my mission requirements. However that is going to have to wait until the morning. Right now they have 'her' sedated, but the scans of 'her' brain show strong activity and makes the chances of 'her' falling back into 'her' coma very unlikely, but they want to transfer 'her' to a more secure environment before they let me see 'her'.

* * *

TUESDAY JUNE 16TH 2009

0552 HOURS

S.H.I.E.L.D FACILITY: THE SANDBOX

(LOCATION CLASSIFIED)

* * *

CLINT

* * *

When the Doc said the rest of the files would be waiting for me in my room, she forgot to mention it was more along the line of tomes. That's the first thing I noticed on the set of draws right inside the doorway, a pile. And it wasn't just the stack of six inch 3 ring binders filled with plastic sleeves that made me sigh in frustration, it was the box of what looked like 50 slim cd cases because apparently they hadn't gotten around to transferring all of the hard copy documents and data into the mainframe yet. Which I suppose I should have guessed given the fact we had 60 years of data on her, not to mention what they probably found with her.

Needless to say the first thing I did was start a pot of coffee because it was going to be a long night.

It didn't take me more than the first page in and I was already glad I worked with a spy because they get all the cool toys. Natasha may be able to speak a whole bunch of different languages, a lot more then me for sure, but for those that don't, S.H.I.E.L.D has what I am fairly confident is the world's greatest translator. Not only can it translate someone's speech in live time, but it can also analyze handwriting, determine the language, and create a visual overlay in the user's selected tongue. Its awesome because I suck at German.

I started with the HYDRA files first, despite the fact I knew they were would probably be incomplete. At the end of the war after all, with the death of the Red Skull, the smaller heads of HYDRA were really just tucking and running. I'll give it to that lady Peggy Carter, she turned that heartbreak into one hell of an all consuming fire and she knew just where to point it.

The files were at least sorted by date, even though I'm sure some of them were based on a guess given there was none written in, but it took me less than five pages to know whatever records HYDRA had about where they found her were missing if they ever existed at all. I'm sure S.H.I.E.L.D already checked for those and knew this detail since they would have tried to look for others like her once they realized she wasn't human, but as for me I was sort of hoping it would give me some sort of a cultural clue to build off of.

The clues I found weren't exactly factual so is much fanatical. There was single reference to Heinrich Himmler, just a letter between the Red Skull sent to Himmler, which boiled down to looking into 'other options'. Other then the fact it was dated shortly after the Dr Erskine rescue mission though, it didn't really give any specifics about what. There were probably other letters preceding that one that would have cleared it up but they were lost in the war.

There was also an entire thesis on a race from the stars, but once I got to the line about them being blue angels I immediately moved on because no one mentioned 'she' was supposed to be blue and I am damn sure somebody would have told me if my assignment was Smurfette.

The joking mood fizzled off in a flash when I arrived at the next section and realized it was a medical report. The handwriting was very faded but it still only took the translator ten seconds to puzzle it out, and make me cringe. They pulled two slugs out of her stomach, and at least 5 fragments of what was probably a third round. The fact that they listed that under samples collected make me think they shot her just to see what would happen. However she ended up with HYDRA it clearly wasn't by choice.

It kept going with the hours, and it didn't really get any better. They seemed convinced she had some sort of special power and were bound and determined to harness it to improve their own men, maybe a desperate attempt at the super soldier serum that slipped out of their grasp. But what that power is exactly no one knows because its buried under so much cultist fanaticism about her being a VIKING GODDESS of all things, and even I can tell from that watermarked photo of a woman with a black eye and shaved head that there was nothing Norwegian about her.

Eventually I got to the video, and I never thought a grainy black and white film could be so disturbing, but the second I saw them hold a bone saw in front of the camera I shut that shit off.

I'm not green to the horrors of the world at all, but the fact I could make the struggling shape of a woman out, strapped stomach down to some kind of table in the background made me feel like I wanted to make friends with the toilet bowl. They were prepping her for surgery in that video and she was awake! They might be damn right about thinking she was a goddess if she lived through that, it would have been nicer if she just died.

It makes me side with her a little more over the fact she broke that nurse's arm. If the last thing I remembered was being cut apart by Nazis, I would have tried to kill the bastard taking my blood with his own damn needle! No wonder she fought with so much strength.

It makes me continue to feel a little green around the gills as I continue reading the section that is our research. Now sure, I have the comfort of knowing we weren't as bad as HYDRA and didn't poison her or take pieces out of her just for the hell of it. The fact still remains though that even if our tests were non invasive in nature, we still ran them on her while she was unconscious, and I almost think that's just as bad in some ways.

How we found her, or originally a SSR/CIA joint task force found her was due to information from a scientist, who a quick name check tells me was one of the Red Skull's inner circle by the name of Armin Zola who we recruited through Operation Paperclip.

It was early April 1952 and he informed us that a small group of HYDRA scientists that were former colleagues of his had managed to escape to Norway at the end of the war They were planning to rendezvous with their Russian counterparts, because despite being on the opposite side of a war there were those in Russia who shared the Red Skulls insanity apparently. They were going to be traveling under the disguise of several seal hunting vessels and intended to rendezvous with the Russians at Jan Mayen Island before disappearing back into the Soviet Union.

Now naturally there were doubts about the authenticity of his information since we had him locked up before the end of the war. We also didn't know what his intentions really were in giving the information in the first place, but in the end the decision came down to the fact that we had enough to worry about from the Communists without adding a HYDRA splinter group to mix.

What followed is now a tiny piece of history called the West Ice Incident. According to common knowledge on April 5th 1952 several seal hunting vessels vanished without a trace in a storm in the west ice. The storm actually worked to the task forces benefit, because out of the seven ships that went down that night, two were really civilian operated seal hunting vessels. The other five were never found because that's how they wanted it.

This wasn't a take prisoners or recruitment mission. Both the SSR and the CIA agreed that trying to bring that many prisoners back to America so close to enemy territory was too much of a risk, so this was meant to be an extermination mission, and it was. They didn't leave anyone alive on those boats, no matter how many hands were raised or surrenders were spoken. The only person they took alive off the 'Buskøy' was her.

After the last round was fired they started stripping the boats of whatever research and cargo they could take, they didn't want to risk it being found by anyone else, then they started lining the hulls with C-4. That's when the found her. I have a picture, and even though its old, just looking at it I can agree with the original diagnosis that the woman in it was dead at the time. I can see patches of frost clinging to her skin that made them think that, but when they looked closer they realized she was wearing a respirator and the wound on her inner arm which looked like someone sliced off a patch of her skin was still slowly oozing blood despite the temperature of the room they found her in.

Taking the tube they had her laying in wasn't possible because there was no way to transfer something that big by hand even if they unbolted it from the floor, but they were able to take her out of it with the press of a few buttons. The fact that when she was held in one of the agent's arms she hung limply like a human body should and wasn't stiff like a corpse made it even clearer that she was still miraculously alive if she still had enough body heat to hold off that side effect of freezing.

Those agents, being decent human beings did try to revive her. They bathed her as respectively as they could and even washed her patchy excuse for hair. They gave her their clothes right off there backs so she wasn't naked, wrapped her in as many warm blankets as they could find to try and raise her body temperature back up to a safe level. In the ship infirmary they put a plaster over that gash on her arm, and according to the report they even prepared a simple hot meal of broth and tea for her when she woke up, that they kept reheating until they made it back to American soil and it went uneaten.

The placement of that skinned section of her arm has me flipping back to the German files on a hunch, and because there was no picture of her, pulling up a tab of holocaust tattoos. Having my guess turn out to be true doesn't please me at all. 103671 was the number THEY gave her, and nobody even had the decency to change it! Now I'm definitely never calling her by that, and I think I'm going to have to put in a standing order to make sure no one else does either!

After that bit of knowledge I let the history books about her fall forgotten in exchange for the calmer topic of her biology. My hope that it would bug me off a little less turns out to be spot on because despite the fact a lot of this scientific jargon is over my head and has to be looked up, I can't help but admit that she seems pretty damn fascinating on the inside.

One of the first details I come across seems to explain why she was able to snap that guy's arm. She's really dense, and no I didn't just call a woman I never met stupid. She really is dense, down to a cellular level. Her body, at least in theory, has the potential to achieve a muscular and skeletal density three times as hard as a human's, once she gets back into shape that is.

Her intestines apparently attach to her stomach in two places before it merges into one like a normal intestine, and that lets her break down food better to get much more nutrients out of it, reducing and almost eliminating all waste, it seems only the inorganic compounds and additives we put in our food don't break down. She gets even better at getting everything possible out of her food when you add in the fact that she has a slightly larger stomach than ours and its compartmentalized.

She has two livers, which I imagine if that is a natural to her 'people,' probably means she comes from a race that can really drink. _Lucky_. She has, I pause for a whistle on this one, she has 23 ribs on each side. _Good lord, her chest cavity is built like a tank, we only have 12 on each side, it looks almost impossible to get a blade through that, I'm sort of jealous of her skeletal structure._

Not that it even seems like the armored rib cage is necessary because she also has an eight chambered heart that can apparently close off a damaged chamber and divert blood flow! No wonder everyone is so interested and intimidated by her, this woman could almost be an evolutionary super soldier equivalent.

I'm not even at the end of the list either. Her frontal lobe is somewhat bigger than ours, and contains a section of brain that we haven't even been able to identify the purpose of since it looks dormant. It hugs her pituitary gland though and seems to be connect to what the scientists have lamely dubbed nerve vessels.

Whatever they are, the outer wall of them is built of the same tissue as her nervous system, which they seem to act like a second one aside for the fact they don't seem to be firing. They also are shaped like blood vessels except for the filaments in them, containing an unidentified liquid that they theorize capable of energy conduction, and perhaps offers her some sort of heightened extrasensory perception.

That is if the whole system didn't appear to be affected by what was probably brain damage.

Oh yeah, and then there's the fact that she looks like she is only in her mid twenties! Which when you remember that she SLEPT FOR SIXTY YEARS should not be possible. As near as the scientist can tell from adapting the methods archeologist use to determine the age that a skeleton, we have placed her developmentally at her races equivalent of 26.

So in the morning apparently, I am supposed to meet an 'immortal' woman of unknown origins, who is built like a tank on steroids, might have psychic powers, and the last thing she remembers is probably Nazi's! _I only READ comics I didn't want to live in one!_

* * *

NOTES FOR THE READERS:

* * *

Because this is set in WWII i will be using historical events from our history. I apologize in advance on the chance any readers out there have connections to those events. My goal is not to offend, and given that most of them happened almost a century ago, I feel it is safe to reference them for creative purposes.

So far, in this chapter I mention the WEST ICE ACCIDENTS:

The West Ice accidents occurred around April 5, 1952 when the five Norwegian seal hunting vessels "Ringsel", "Brattind" and "Vårglimt" from Troms and "Buskøy" and "Pels" from Sunnmøre with a total of 78 men vanished in the midst of a severe storm in the West Ice, east of Greenland.

Despite search and rescue operations for many days involving planes and naval ships, no traces of the missing boats were discovered. During Easter that year 53 Norwegian vessels were participating in seal hunting in the West Ice. Of these 7 shipwrecked, 5 disappeared without a trace. The first vessel to shipwreck was the Møre boat "Vestis", however the crew of this boat was rescued.


	2. Chapter 2

So it goes with saying that only things I own with any connection to MARVEL I bought on Ebay or Etsy. MARVEL COMICS & MARVEL CINEMATIC UNIVERSE are their own creatures and I have nothing to do with either of them aside from the fact I enjoy reading or watching them, and am grateful for the ability to play in their world. I claim nothing, and I receive nothing for this, expect the pleasure of putting something out into the world.

This story is part of several prequels leading up to That Which Wanders is Unaware. The sequel to TWWiU will be updated every week, but the prequels will be updated is I get to them.

You can also find this story on ARCHIVE OF OUR OWN under the same title and pen name.

* * *

CHAPTER TWO

* * *

DAY TWO

TUESDAY JUNE 16TH 2009

0900 HOURS

S.H.E.I.L.D FACILITY: THE SANBOX

(LOCATION CLASSIFIED)

* * *

CLINT

* * *

Sleep was short lived, but that was okay, because of the skills I picked up working in S.H.E.I.L.D was the ability to power nap, and any lingering effects from that will be driven away after a cup of coffee.

I'm a high ranking Agent, stationed on a long term assignment, so that got me my own apartment with a view. And by view I mean the holo-window next to my bed is currently showing a country sunrise over the hill, and a deer grazing. This whole facility is buried in sand. The human mind gets a little funny if can't see the world for too long.

The apartment's in typical S.H.I.E.L.D style. Its a combination of stainless steel and polished wood. The furniture is what you'd call modern I guess. The bedroom set is two bed side tables and a armoire to go with the bed frame. They're all dark stained wood with metal accents for the handles or just decoration.

The living room section has gray carpet, and a third table matching the bedroom set, that's sitting by the door. The rest of wood is a lighter shade. Two more closets and a row of shelves sits behind the white couch and dark coffee table that sits in front of a flat screen TV.

The hallway has more shelves, and on the left is a small kitchen. All the appliances are stainless steel. Microwave, coffee/espresso maker, coffee grinder, dishwasher, trash compacter, sink and fridge. Even the X shaped plate rack matches. Its got a small round table with a wooden top, and the wall of paneling is there to offset the metal.

On the other side of the tiny hall is the bathroom. Its all stainless steel, but it makes up for that by the vertical radiator on the wall and the heated floor. Aside from that its pretty basic. A sink is built into the right half of the cupboard, with a mirror that touches the ceiling. Then it's got the typical shower, and a toilet.

Nice accommodations for a top secret military facility designed to hold dangerous shit.

I chug what's left of the espresso from last night, that ended up waiting for me on the coffee table. Its cold, and disgusting but I didn't do it for the taste. Then I start a fresh cup before I take a shower. I have a couple time-zones on my skin, and since I'm meeting a this woman for the first time I'm doing it clean, and shaved.

Next on my list is breakfast. My tiny kitchen has no stove or toaster, but S.H.I.E.L.D keeps the fridge stocked with microwaveable meals and things that don't need cooking. There's no such thing as a regular schedule when we have people coming from all over the world, and some people prefer the privacy of not eating in the cafeteria. I know I do, especially first thing in the morning. I like getting one meal in me without whispers and nervous stares.

I end up leaving the Aunt Jemima meals, and go with one of the Jimmy Dean breakfast-bowls. They had the biscuits and gravy ones.

Clothes is last on the last and that choice is easiest because there isn't one. Ideally I'd dress in a suit to appear nonthreatening. But this 'woman' is potentially dangerous so I'm wearing my S.H.E.I.L.D standard issues tactical uniform.

* * *

TUESDAY JUNE 16TH 2009

0900 HOURS

S.H.E.I.L.D FACILITY: THE SANBOX

(LOCATION CLASSIFIED)

* * *

CLINT

* * *

"She did what?" All I wanted was for things to go smoothly. I arrive, I tell them to wake her up, we talk, we bond hopefully. Instead I get here and I get this.

"She, uhm, she woke up ahead of schedule sir. We were about to put her back under." The nurse is Level Three, and she's rightfully flustered by the whole situation, but she's also not the one at fault.

"Yeah, you're not going to do that..." They already drugged her back into oblivion once, and I get why, but if I had been here then I wouldn't have let them. If we keep sedating her every time she blinks wrong she is never going to trust any of us. "...but you are going to fire whoever the anesthesiologist is."

With an assignment like this, I have administrative authority. So if someone screws up, or I don't like the staff dealing with her, they're off the assignment. I can even reassign them out of the Sandbox if I want. But I'm saving that for those who really screw up, like the one with the broken arm. He really didn't do anything wrong, but I guarantee seeing him will scare the woman, so we are just going to eliminate that problem before it becomes one.

I can't eliminate these problems though. They've got her in hospital room, and that means she comes with a medical chart. It has a diagnosis section on it. Dissociative Amnesia. Haphephobia. The signatures on the bottom make me bypass my urge for a second opinion. If Dr. Goodman AND Streiten signed off on this diagnosis I"ll trust it even if I hate it. "How bad's the amnesia, and what is Haphephobia?"

"She presents both signs of repressed memory, and dissociative fugue..." The fact I'm not a neurologist shows in the rise of my eyebrows on the second one. "She's completely unaware of her own identity, and may attempt to create a new one."

"She forgot everything, that's what your saying?" _That sounds bad, but if she doesn't remember being a Nazi pin cushion that might be a good thing..._ "Almost everything, sir."

"She appears to have retained her fear, but not the causes of it." Closing my eyes I press my knuckles against my forehead with a very strained grin. _Never mind, I take it back, its all horrible._

"And what about the other things?" To my credit, I take some delight in the fact that even she has to look up the definition of that word, and some concern. Apparently whatever it is, its not common. I prefer common psychological problems, I at least have some idea how to deal with those.

"Haphephobia... Ah here it is." She rambles for a second as she pulls the information up on her screen. "A rare specific phobia that involves the fear of touching or of being touched. It is an acute exaggeration of the normal tendencies to protect one's personal space, expressed as a fear of contamination or invasion, and extending even to people whom its sufferers know well."

"And how bad is it?" The way her face sinks pretty much answers my question. "We attempted to send a nurse in the room earlier, and her heart rate rose to dangerous levels."

 _So, an amnesic, phobic woman with a personal bubble the size of Kansas..._ "I'm supposed to deal with this, how?"

It hadn't really been a question, but she gives me an answer anyways. "The approved approach is to lie, sir." I don't miss the way she says 'approved' instead of 'suggested' and she doesn't miss the look on my face. "Didn't you receive those orders from Fury?"

* * *

TUESDAY JUNE 15TH 2009

0200 HOURS

TRISKELION

PRIVATE APARTMENT

* * *

FURY

* * *

 _Like clockwork._ "I gotta hear THIS from a nurse, are you kidding me Nick?" The receiver barely touched my ear, and already I could hear hints of an Iowa accent in his voice telling me how annoyed he really is. "And here I thought my trip to D.C would let me have a calm night."

"Yeah, well things are less calm over here. You seriously want me to lie to a scared, vulnerable, potentially empowered being?" I understand his frustration. I know exactly what prompted this phone call. I authorized it less then a hour ago.

"No, I seriously want you to protect a scared, vulnerable and almost certainly empowered being." There's the sound of a phone being compressed in the silence, and mental gears turning.

* * *

TUESDAY JUNE 16TH 2009

0900 HOURS

S.H.E.I.L.D FACILITY: THE SANBOX

(LOCATION CLASSIFIED)

* * *

CLINT

* * *

"Protect her from who, Nick? She's sitting under the Sahara!" I felt it when I read those orders, and I can practically smell it now. Those orders reek of 'not Nick'. Deception and manipulation is part of the S.H.I.E.L.D package, I won't pretend its not, but this, its a whole other level of potential backlash.

"The World Council thinks she's too dangerous. I persuaded them she was worth more to us alive." _With the subtext of not killing her and dissecting her for science right Nick?_ "And let me guess, I was 'just' a convenient assassin on sick leave?"

I thought there was something weird about this assignment. I hate being right. "She's a very valuable asset, and you have a history. A woman with the right kind of story is your kryptonite Clint. I gave you this assignment because I knew you would advocate her well-being over her execution."

Oh, I friggen hate you so much right now. "Did you know about the diagnosis before you made that call?"

"Yes. The report came in while you were sleeping. I've talked to both to Dr. Goodman, and the Council. There is a risk, but Dr. Goodman doesn't believe her memories will return any time soon, and by then she will have developed bonds in S.H.E.I.L.D that she will be reluctant to break."

"Loyalty through lies, that's seriously your plan?" At least when he replies he sounds just as unhappy about it. "No, my plan is to keep her alive though, and someday make her an active member of S.H.E.I.L.D. Playing ball with the Councils wishes is how we do it for now. So what's it gonna be Agent Barton?

* * *

TUESDAY JUNE 15TH 2009

0200 HOURS

TRISKELION

PRIVATE APARTMENT

* * *

FURY

* * *

His response was a sigh, followed by "Oh, I hate you so much man. Have a good night, Nick" Before he hung up on my smirk.


	3. Chapter 3

So it goes with saying that only things I own with any connection to MARVEL I bought on Ebay or Etsy. MARVEL COMICS & MARVEL CINEMATIC UNIVERSE are their own creatures and I have nothing to do with either of them aside from the fact I enjoy reading or watching them, and am grateful for the ability to play in their world. I claim nothing, and I receive nothing for this, expect the pleasure of putting something out into the world.

This story is part of several prequels leading up to That Which Wanders is Unaware. The sequel to TWWiU will be updated every week, but the prequels will be updated is I get to them.

You can also find this story on ARCHIVE OF OUR OWN under the same title and pen name.

* * *

CHAPTER THREE

* * *

TUESDAY JUNE 16TH 2009

0900 HOURS

S.H.E.I.L.D FACILITY: THE SANBOX

(LOCATION CLASSIFIED)

* * *

CLINT

* * *

The sandbox isn't a hospital, but that doesn't mean it lacks one. When your dealing with dangerous objects, there's always the possibility of exposure to something, no matter how many safeguards we have in place. There's also the fact that we have a permanent staff living here, and humans get sick just being around other humans.

That being said, when they told me she was in room 325 I was already annoyed, again. I would like to stop firing people for stupid decisions eventually. That's the third floor, that's an isolation room, or as I like to call them, intimidation suites.

They have an observation room, which is nothing but a black door in a gray hall with a window for a wall at the end. Its furnished with a single chair bolted to the tile, and a computer screen attached to a swivel bar rising out of the floor.

On either side of this hall are decontamination shower rooms, and a pair of airlocks leading into and out of the showers. The airlocks closest to the patients room are also glass walls with a glass doors.

That means three of the six walls in the hexagon she's trapped in are glass and they're the three she can see the easiest because they're in front of her. All she can do is lay there and watch the 'threat' coming.

Then there's the room itself, which is practically an interrogator's wet dream. Especially with the way they told me they removed everything that wasn't nailed down. A decision that was made without my approval following the fact she broke that man's arm.

Her bed, which they assured me she is strapped to quite securely, yay, is sitting opposite the observation room, inside a yellow warning line on the floor, and has a concrete wall curving in over her head. If she isn't already claustrophobic on top of everything, that might make her eventually. When you're laying down it looks like the wall is caving in on you, I know. It also doesn't help that the bar of lights on that wall never go off. They dim considerably for when you sleep, if you can reach the light switch on the wall five feet away which I guarantee she can't.

So not only is she unlikely to sleep well anyways because of her fear, but there is going to be the permanent glow of a light filtering through her eyelids when she does. And when she is awake the room itself is shades of white that darken at most to gray, and stainless steel. Has nobody working this assignment taken basic psychology training. I know she was in a coma before so it didn't matter, but she's awake now, and they put her in a dystopian hamster ball!

It only takes me one step into the room to know every thought I had was right. I've seen less fear from beaten dogs.

* * *

TUESDAY JUNE 16TH 2009

0900 HOURS

S.H.E.I.L.D FACILITY: THE SANBOX

(LOCATION CLASSIFIED)

* * *

0-8-4

* * *

"Please, please, please, please, please, please..." This one is different then the others that who have engaged me so far. The others were wearing white, all their coats so devoid of color it reminded me of snow. This one though, his attire is dyed in black, from his jerkin to his trousers. Even the insignia on his over coat is black, its presence only known to me by the fact that its stitching reflects the light differently then the rest it the threads.

This one is different, and that terrifies me because I know not what that should mean. I only know that those men who wore white robes were not kind or sympathetic. I begged them for mercy and answers, and they gave me neither. They just tightened their hands on my limbs and drove more needles in my skin.

That is all I remember before the darkness swarmed in from the outer edges of my vision, and unconsciousness claimed me. Cruel men in the the cleanest clothes, their purity an illusion to hide there maliciousness. Then I woke up, and now the man they send to me is robed in black, but I do not know if those threads are honest representation of the person wearing them, when the others were such a lie. I just know the man inside them frightens me. "...please, please, I will obey, I swear to you, I will ask no more question, I will do no more wrong, just please have mercy, please, please please...!

* * *

TUESDAY JUNE 16TH 2009

0900 HOURS

S.H.E.I.L.D FACILITY: THE SANBOX

(LOCATION CLASSIFIED)

* * *

CLINT

* * *

She took one look at me, and I swear if there wasn't a magnet under that hospital bed locking it in place, I think her shaking might have moved it across the room! I haven't even reached the chair yet, Jesus Christ!

I spent a lot of last night looking at specimen numbers and photos of a 'human' test subjects, but while I didn't really give it much thought, I assumed the 'woman' I was supposed to meet would look better after a half century in decent hands, not the same.

Sure, she isn't covered in bruises and blood. Sure her skin is clean, not carved open, and has healthy color to it. Sure she doesn't look like a skeleton wearing padded leather from starvation but the woman strapped down on the other side of the glass looks no less like a lab rat.

Her heads been shaved, recently enough to that her hair looks more like a shadow on her scalp then a layer of strands. They did that so they could stick the sensors there. That is the biggest similarity to her life during the Holocaust, but it isn't the only one. There's I'Vs all over her. Disappearing into her flesh beneath semi transparent tape and pinkened skin. Some of which I know is smears of blood that's stained the bandages.

They have a feeding tube going down her nose, I'Vs in her arms, things stuck to her skin for god knows what reason, and heavy pleather restraints holding down her exposed limbs.

They dressed her in a stiff hospital gown, but even with her diagnosis they didn't give her a sheet before they sent a man to see her. I get the logic, really I do. She obviously isn't stable, and she has already injured the staff. They don't want her to have something she could choke someone, or attempt suicide with.

But the restraints look heavier then she does. She's got an I'V in her that will fill her with sedatives at the push of button. She's stuck in a room with doors that only open with a card! And if the worst happens, because this is an isolation room, they always just can initiate the decontamination procedure. I will never authorize that though! I am not killing a 'woman' with fire.

I'll have to find out what exactly my limits are on this assignment are quickly, but its clear I have a lot of cleaning up to do if I actually have a chance at accomplishing this mission. The sheet thing though is absolutely within my abilities, and that is happening as soon as I leave this room.

"I need you to relax miss. I'm agent Barton, an operative of S.H.I.E.L.D, and I've been assigned to take care of you." The least I can do is start treating the poor woman like a person, because she's been denied that for far too long already

They suggested going in impersonally at first and building a connection as we progressed. Those intentions were great, but it only took me a few seconds of listening to her to realize they were pointless too. She demonstrated a grasp of the English language, but as frightened as she was I might as well have been speaking Spanish to a fish. I needed to do something to push past that wall of terrified pleading, so I went with the only thing I could think of. I made her a person. "Agent Conway, take a breathe, its me."

* * *

TUESDAY JUNE 16TH 2009

0900 HOURS

S.H.E.I.L.D FACILITY: THE SANBOX

(LOCATION CLASSIFIED)

* * *

0-8-4

* * *

It is a word, it is a title, it is a name? The context and the sounds all feel foreign on my tongue, but it is what he directed at me. Is it my title? My name? Is it a lie? I hate the idea that it might be, that I must consider that, almost as much as I hate how much I do not care if it is. "A-ag-ent Con-conway?"

"Yes" he says after a pause, and before his first step, which falters at the sight of my reaction. "That is who are. Eleanor Conway" He continues, choosing words over motion. "and I am Agent Barton. Clint Barton. We know each other."

* * *

TUESDAY JUNE 16TH 2009

0900 HOURS

S.H.E.I.L.D FACILITY: THE SANBOX

(LOCATION CLASSIFIED)

* * *

CLINT

* * *

Her dispute to that comes quick and hard with a "N-No we do n-not" but that's okay, because that's what I was expecting and hoping for. It would be nice if she dropped everything and trusted me, but so would the existence of unicorns, and I'm not getting that either. Really all I actually wanted was to hook her attention and in that I succeeded.

"No. you're right." I concede, very slowly holding my hands up in what I'm assuming is a peaceful gesture to her, and take her lack of flinch is proof enough. "We don't, not anymore. But we did, and its okay that you don't remember me. They told me about your amnesia. We will help you get back there." Before I recognize my fuck-up.

Seeing her panic at the word 'we' I lift my hands higher, and school my feet against their initial reaction, backing up instead of approaching as I chant out a couple quick 'no's' before I form an actual sentence. "I will help you get back there." I stress the 'I' and 'you' as I gesture at each of us respectively. "I'm the person in charge. Unless its absolutely necessary, I'm the only person you're going to see."

"I do not want it to be necessary!" The lack of a stutter would have been an improvement if she didn't actually start that sentence with a goddamn whimper. Fury was right, the asshole. Abused women really are my damn kryptonite.

"I know." I offer, sounding more certain then I feel as I try to figure out what I'm doing without letting her see I don't know. "I don't want it to be necessary either, and I'm going to do everything I can to make sure its not, but to do that you have to deal with me, okay? Just me."

I was hoping for a yes, but instead I got I what I expected. "I do not want to be here! Let me go!"

"I can't let you go." I want her to like me, but that sentence makes it look like I'm becoming the villain to her, if her expression is anything to go by. So I try my best to change that "Its not safe for you out there, there are people, there are a lot more people then me out there, and if you can't handle just me, just one, you're not ready for that. Are you?"

* * *

TUESDAY JUNE 16TH 2009

0900 HOURS

S.H.E.I.L.D FACILITY: THE SANBOX

(LOCATION CLASSIFIED)

* * *

0-8-4

* * *

There's something I hate in those words, in that tone. There's highhanded superiority there, like I'm a child. I think I want to resist that, but I know I can't. He can be as high handed and superior, because he is. He is one of the people who are responsible for me being here, where-ever this place is, who are responsible for the straps holding me down, who will return and punish me with needles and darkness if I misbehave. The people who have, who might again if I do something wrong. That's why I didn't respond to the question, up until he repeated it and left me with no choice.

* * *

TUESDAY JUNE 16TH 2009

0900 HOURS

S.H.E.I.L.D FACILITY: THE SANBOX

(LOCATION CLASSIFIED)

* * *

CLINT

* * *

I'm not even in the room but there's something painful to look at in her expression, so much more then it should. It's making it hard to keep my own as passive as it is. She looks like she's expecting me to hit her as she stutters out those words, so soft a whisper that I actually have to adjust the volume to hear more then a hum. "H-how do I kn-know its sa-af-fe f-for me h-here?"

"You don't..." My answer scares her even more, but I push past that out of necessity. "and you shouldn't, at least not yet. That's my job. To convince you, to give you reasons to trust again. I intend to do my damnedest, that's why they sent me."

Silence, and confusion, the the sight of strain leaching the color out of her skin under those straps. God, I wish Nat was here, or Laura even if I would ever actually let Laura within sight of S.H.I.E.L.D. This woman's like a terrified kid, and sure I'm a dad, but I can think of so many people better at this then me. I hope I'm doing this right.

"Be-bec-cause we k-knew each ot-ther." Its the question I wanted, the question I was hoping for, a question that shows hope of belief, that shows interest in the hook. A question that has the agent and the man in me are at odds over. Its what she needs, its what we need, its what will keep her safe. Just a white lie, the size of a mountain, covered in snow. Covered in snow, covered in snow...

* * *

TUESDAY JUNE 16TH 2009

0900 HOURS

S.H.E.I.L.D FACILITY: THE SANBOX

(LOCATION CLASSIFIED)

* * *

0-8-4

* * *

"Yes." He confirms with a smile, letting his hands drift down, slowing their descent when he notices my eyes lock on them. "Because we knew each other." They maintain their pace even as they shift their direction a little, now instead of just lowering, they rest on the smooth arms of the white chair as he uses them to guide himself into its seat. "Because they think if you remembered anyone, it might be me."

My silence, and the doubt on my brow is taken as an invitation to continue. "You don't have to believe me. I don't want or expect that yet, if fact, I want you to stay suspicious of me, I want you to make me prove it. Anything less would be an insult to the woman you were, to the agent that I saved."

He... him? Saved? Me? I don't really understand. But I'm alive because of him? Is that true? Why don't I know if that's true? I really want to just hide my face in my hands and cry, but my hands stop against their own volition so all I can do is close my eyes and try to tuck my chin in against the resistance sitting over my chest.

"You mattered then" he continues, seemingly undisturbed to my ears by the sight of me in my distress. "more then my mission, or my orders, and you matter just is much now. I promise to keep you safe, to do everything I can to keep you from being scared, and help you figure all of this out, but you need to cooperate with me, just me, to do that. Can you do that?"

Given his last question demanded an answer I am assuming this one does as well, though I'm not sure why, since even he must be aware that he has offered me no choice, only the pretense of an option. Still my silent, blind nod puts a gentle note of gratitude in his tone. "That a girl."


End file.
